Pale Moon Burning Sun
by SallyJetson
Summary: Where do they belong?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Many thanks to the following for reading and commenting but in particular to **MariaLisa** for the unfailing support and superb beta; **notesofwimsey** for the discussions on all things literary; **Elainhe** for her innate ability to catch the emotional nuances; **Bluenose** for the title which comes from a line in the song Pale Moon by Shannon McNally, and provides a perfect dichotomy for this piece.

**Pale Moon Burning Sun**

_Where do they belong? _

**Prologue **

_Enticed into mingling business with pleasure _

_In a land _

_Far removed from their own. _

_The sunset layered the sky _

_With heated red at its base _

_To deepening blue on high. _

_The night in magical transformation _

_Tempered and cooled _

_ From the burning blaze of the day. _

_Beyond the twilight, the moon rose _

_Resplendently pale. _

_Liberating. Rejuvenating. Consecrating._

**Chapter 1**

Her eyelashes, a half-mooned darkness, splashed against alabaster cheeks.

He despised waking her; she slept as peacefully as a baby.

His hand resting on the swell of her hip, lips to ear, he whispered, "Hey, sleepyhead."

She stirred. His gut clenched. It was too soon.

He knew it; she knew it.

She denied it; he couldn't deny her.

--------

A heavy hand of heat struck them as they exited the apartment building. Although early in the day the sun burned a path through the sky, barely a deterrent for people who mindlessly scurried to their appointed destinations.

--------

They ducked under the yellow tape; he with a hovering hand at her back; the hand that rarely strayed more than six inches from her; guiding, guarding, protecting.

She stalled at the vic. The vigilant hand detected the immediate stiffening in her carriage.

_Shit. Her Achilles heel._

The young woman was simply dressed; her face a mask of sweet repose contradicting the disturbing angle of her slight body.

He swiped a hand across the back of his neck, herding beads of sweat. The day, starting tentatively, nose dived into challenging.

Her wits scattered like sheep as the emptiness began to fill with dread. Once a master of burying emotions, now a struggling student of fielding them; she suddenly yearned for the destructive simplicity of old habits.

"I'll take the body, you take the perimeter."

"No!"

"Linds ... you aren't ready for this."

"I was handling it okay before-"

"Before, yeah ... but we all have setbacks."

"I know but I need to do this."

His face shifted into a slight grimace. _My Achilles heel_.

"Okay," blue eyes relenting to brown, "but we'll work it together."

Relief sighed through her body, then determination set her features as they squatted next to the body, humidity sealing the latex gloves around their hands.

She lifted the young woman's head, gently turning it; he gestured toward the mass of caked blood.

"Blunt force trauma to the head."

"Flakes of," quickly surveying the peeling paint on the brick wall, noting the telltale splat, "paint it looks like."

"Damn, she hit it hard."

She gently lowered the head.

"Had help; look at the bruises around her wrists."

Dread gave way to desolation; its grip holding fast as she fought to stand against it.

The hand was back, holding the desolation at bay.

"Linds?"

"I'm okay, Danny."

"Ya sure?"

Head bob.

"Okay, let's survey the perimeter ... see what we can turn up."

--------

Interior, dark and stale; remnants of smoke and sex.

_Gentleman's Respite, _he snorted.

Not one to disdain another's choice, in this case he couldn't but ...

A paunch proportioned to the status of the man was wedged between the table and the wall.

"Happen to notice the dead body lying in the alley behind your club?"

"News to me." Eyes focused on hands sorting receipts.

"Hard to believe you don't know what goes on around here ... this is your place, right?"

"I know what goes on in here. Out there," thumb jerk over the shoulder, "ain't my concern."

Hands palming the tabletop, "If I find you had anything to do with that murder, I promise you'll be concerned."

Purity entering Gomorrah. "We're all loaded."

"Now there's something I could be concerned with." Leering eyes scampering up and down. "Sweet cheeks, how 'bout circling a pole for me? More green in one night than you see in a month."

Protective arm stretching across her.

Catching the glint of finger gold. "It's like that, huh? We don't discriminate as long as the tits and ass are good ... could work out well for both of you; you know, build a little nest egg real quick."

"You lowlife bastard"

Gentle hand tugging; tempering anger.

--------

Sun fully aflame in its zenith; sizzling concrete and metal alike; relentless and indiscriminate.

The stream of tepid air did little to relieve; little to relieve their crawl through the sprawl; the constant vigilance of mirrored giants; the crush of faceless, nameless humanity, and nothing to relieve the emptiness.

Only he could do that. Him ... and the night of the Pale Moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Many thanks to all who are reading and/or reviewing. Your words about the story and my writing mean a great deal to me. SJ

**Pale Moon Burning Sun**

_Where do they belong?_

**Chapter 2**

Face sagging in tiredness, lips thinning in tension, but eyes relentlessly scrutinizing; always seeking answers.

"How did she do in the field today?"

"Good Mac, she did good."

"I'm counting on you to keep tabs on the situation; I let her go back in early partly on your recommendation."

_Damn, Mac didn't suspect ... did he?_

"I'm on top of it, Mac."

"Okay, keep me posted on the case." Eyebrows cocked. "Given any more thought to what we discussed?"

"Definitely considering it."

"Unless you can give a reason otherwise, I strongly urge you to take it. This would put you back on the promotion grid." Reassuring nod, "You're ready."

_But what about the reason I shouldn't take it?_

--------------------

Movements sure, efficient and graceful; focus zoned across her face. Images flickered in his mind of other moments when her focus was similarly intense, although more intimately expressed. In both instances she was poetry in motion.

A glance and a beckoning smile.

"Got anything yet?"

"Prints on the cuff links match the vic."

"Anything else?"

"Nothing. We need to put a name to the initials on the cuff links."

--------------------

The interior, no less dank and stale deeper within the bowels; the smell of smoke and sex sharper.

He loathed her being here again. But she had insisted ... again.

But they double-teamed effortlessly, he verbally, she visually. He cajoled for the previous night's receipts while she observed—angelically—which was not completely an act of deception.

Meticulous attention to detail: Bambi; Twyla; Pixie; Mocha; Delia— enshrined on the wall. Women of exaggerated features and poses intended only to arouse never to satisfy. A perpetual wheel of sin.

_Did they have choices? What had made them choose this kind of life? Did they feel empty?_

Choices had been made and she felt the emptiness.

"Ready to get outta here?" His voice filled her emptiness; his hand at her back told her there were choices.

--------------------

It was a dead end on the first attempt; a long-haired musician with little means or motive to own cuff links.

For the descent of three flights the view of broad shoulders steadied her.

Doors slamming; feet pounding; shouts echoing.

The vise of anxiety halted her at the final flight, her steadiness receding with the view of his shoulders.

He reacted, turning, taking stairs two at a time, upwards to her.

She, back against the wall, trembling, hands clutched low across her stomach.

His fingers at her elbow; a whoosh of sweaty air and the crack of juvenile teasing sailed by.

"Last one there's a rotten egg!"

A jumble of city sounds crested on the wave of squalid heat that swelled through the door.

"Just kids."

"I know" Her trembling breath failed to suppress the sensation of plummeting.

The heavy metal door sealed in the heat; the clanging echo battered the reverberations of the city sounds into dissipation, but not the swell of bitterness in her throat.

--------------------

Hushed tones further muted by lush carpeting.

"Take another look, Congressman Manes."

She nudged the photo of the pallid, young woman towards him.

He had bowed to her on this one, detecting that she sensed something, keenly aware of her abilities to get to a man.

"Maybe someone in passing; a campaign worker, an angry constituent, perhaps a rejected proposition?"

"Sorry," An abrupt rise from the luxuriously leathered chair. "Now, as fellow public servants, I'm sure you can relate to the busy schedule-"

"One more question?"

Feigning expansiveness, "Certainly, Detective."

"These cuff links with the initials T.W.B.M." Glib presentation of evidence. "Are they yours, Congressman? Congressman Thomas. William. Bedford. Manes."

--------------------

The specks of humanity eddied fathoms below him, oblivious to his blistering scorn.

The trip to power had been heady; entered by the closing of a lesser door, bought by strategic amalgamation and insured by unswerving loyalty.

He was a speck no longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** To everyone who is reading and/or reviewing, thank you. I appreciate the support and the encouragement.

**Pale Moon Burning Sun**

_Where do they belong? _

**Chapter 3**

The clink of glittering cold metal, and the murmuring of detached inspections were the only requiem for the ashen bodies in this high-tech crypt.

Which disgusted her more: the revulsion of the crime scene with its violent link to recent life, or the indifference of the morgue with its antiseptic elimination of any connection to recent life?

"Whaddya got for us, Sid?"

"Other than the blunt force trauma to the head and the bruising around the wrists, just this ... take a look."

Sheet lifting, eyes peering.

"Angry scar ... not a clean cut or a tidy suture line." Words escaping like a tired hiss from a flaccid balloon. "Just hope she had pain medication."

"How recent?

Thankful for his question as the emptiness stole her own words, leaving the rawness of loss in its wake.

"Three to five years."

_Three to five years ago._ The story was visible in the scar, if only she could read it. _What kind of choices had she had? _

Sid's murmured concern, "Lindsay, you're whiter than this sheet," pried her from the story.

Flurry of efficiency to cover deficiency. "I'll start the background check on Congressman Manes."

Concerned gazes followed her abrupt departure from the room.

"Is it the case?"

"Nah, it's the heat." Guilt twisting at the half-truth.

--------

Not surprised by the sight before him; blank gaze, pen idly tapping.

Reluctant to startle, he gentled a hand on her shoulder.

Head turning, eyes focusing, as the train of thought temporarily halted.

"Anything on Congressman Manes?"

Snapping to attention. "Elected two years ago as a junior Congressman; married 3 years ago to Amber Stanton-"

"Of the political powerhouse Stantons?"

Confirming nod. "Before that a one term city councilman and political science lecturer at NYU."

Suspicious scowl. "Meteoric rise to power there."

Tuned to the workings of his mind. "You've got a hunch."

"You don't get from A to Z overnight. I say we bring him in."

Curls whipping back and forth across her face, "Can't! We haven't established a link to the vic."

"The link." His inflection faded then revived in revelation. "Who— made— the— links?"

Her eyes brightened in osmotic realization. "The cuff links!"

--------

Clouds lidded infinitely gray from horizon to horizon, socking in the heat that intensified the rancid street smell and aggravated the simmer of the city as they traversed it.

A soft chime signaled their arrival into the haven of chilled air, dark gleaming wood and rich aromatic tobacco scents.

"May I help you?" Query from a deferential voice.

"We need a name on the purchase of a set of cuff links."

"I'm sorry, all purchases are confidential; our clientele is ah ... shall we say, _exclusive_."

Casual hand on hip directing attention to the authoritative gleam of a badge. "I'm sorry; our client is ... how shall _I_ say; _dead_."

"Certainly, the links please." Palm opening to accept, then trained eye examining. "Yes, custom job. Let me look up that reference number."

--------

"Don't know what she looked like." Trembling hand returned the photo. "Only knew her first name, Melinda. Pulled a phantom act ... disappeared ... left Jen in a pinch."

"When was that?"

"Almost four years ago."

"How did Jen know Melinda?"

"NYU."

Exchange of knowing glances.

Covering all bases, he held forth evidence.

"Recognize these?"

Mumbling the initials, she scanned the cuff links, head shaking.

--------

Pushed aside plates of barely touched food; the Midtown lunchtime din receding into the background.

"How long?"

"Not too long. Six-"

"Weeks?"

"No," meaty pause; replete sigh, "months."

Her countless emotions contended for attention like starving children holding their hands out for sustenance. Which would be the first?

Hungrily his hand enclosed hers, coaxing her eyes back to his, craving a crumb of assurance.

"It makes it all possible."

Doubt was the first to the table—_is it_ _possible without him?_ The others nipped ravenously at its heels.

--------

The sun slipped away but the unmerciful heat lingered, trapped within subway tunnels and boxed into alley ways, reflected in the night lights and absorbed into the temperament of the city.

Reprieve came in her beguiling smile, rarely appearing, and then only in places of sanctuary; thanking God that she still found solace here as his lips tasted hers. His world would cease to exist if she could not find solace here, with him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I appreciate everyone who's read and/or reviewed.

**Pale Moon Burning Sun**

_Where do they belong? _

**Chapter 4**

"Certainly Detectives," words mouthing for two, but voice purring for one, "this way." Enticing sway for him; dismissing look for her. She, typically amused by the scenario, today, was perturbed by it.

He played the disparity to their favor, allowing her to scan for inconsistencies.

"Ms. Waterston-"

"Monique." Settling back, crossing bronzed, shapely legs. The tailored tight and bright of her attire contradicting the subdued chic and sleek of the décor.

"Monique." Perfunctory nod. "You're listed as an emergency contact for a graduating NYU student, Melinda Waterston."

"Yes, she's my sister." Absence of purr; presence of exasperation. "What's your issue with Melinda?"

"Unfortunately, it may be _was_." He shifted forward to place the morgue photo into slightly veined hands. "I'm sorry, but is this Melinda?"

"Yes." Garish fingertips alternated careful swipes under dry eyes, stretching then releasing finely etched crow's feet. "What happened?" Tone flattening, photo relegated to the table between them.

"Murder. Anyone want Melinda out of the way?"

Peripheral movement. Her eyes covertly tracking a flash of youthfulness, finger in mouth, hand clutching well-worn security. Gone in an instant, but not the sensation of plummeting; the swell of bitterness.

--------

Coveting a glance from her; longing to touch her; doubting she would feel it; opting for words instead. "I know it shook you up."

"Something's not right about the sister."

Conceding, momentarily, to her avoidance of the topic. "Don't see a motive. My money's on the Congressman."

"It's the sister, Dan."

Bringing it back. "Maybe you're too close-"

"Because of the girl?" Retort swift and biting.

"No Linds it's because…" His words were squelched by the reluctance to render heartache, and stifled by the guilt of not only failing her once but of failing her again.

--------

"Surely you can do better than that, Detective?" The last word slithering out.

Ignoring the slur; determined to spin the web to catch the fly. "Melinda Waterston, a student in your Political Science class ... remember her?" He thrust a photographic portrayal of co-ed exuberance at him. "Or maybe you remember her like this!" Flipping to a starkly etched lifelessness in black and white.

"I can't possibly remember one face out of 150 almost 4 years ago." Smoothing and tucking silk tie into double-breasted suit. "I've crossed paths with hundreds of people since then." Finger tapped on table top, accentuating. "Memorable­— influential— people."

Clenched fist underneath the table at words unspoken, but at slight implied.

"Do you deny that you were at Gentleman's Respite the night of the murder?"

"No, I don't deny it; I keep up with _all_ my constituents."

Sleaze in a suit breezing through the door. "Unless you are charging my client, he'll be on his way. He is a very busy man."

Insidious smile accompanying condescending rise from the chair. "Remember Detective, this works better if you actually have evidence."

--------

"He's adopted." She gestured at the screen as he perched on the edge of her desk.

"And this helps our case ... how?" Sarcasm and skepticism fruited from the sting of the recent interrogation.

Allowing atypical intuition to factor into the equation, "I know it means something," and emotion to quaver in her voice, "but what? I don't know yet."

Scooting across the desk and swiveling her chair towards him, finger underneath chin, sincerity thickening accent. "I know _what_ means something."

Luminous eyes; saucered in surprise.

"The fact that I failed you; that I wasn't there to catch you; but I'm sorry ten times over and I'm working like hell to make it right, Lindsay."

Pressing his palm to her cheek, murmuring, "I'm not blaming you, Danny. It is just taking time to get past it."

--------

The memory pushed through, causing feelings, not of grief for the loss of life, but of resentment for the loss of opportunity.

"_Don't be a fool. Leave the past in the past."_

"_The truth needs to be revealed."_

"_I'm telling you it will gain you nothing. This is the only way to gain."_

"_We'll see." Chin thrusting out in defiance. "I've already set the wheels in motion to right things."_

"_What? With these?" Palm opening to reveal glittering betrayal. "You can take these back. They accomplished nothing ... nothing— at— all—."_

And the house of cards had caved in upon itself.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I appreciate everyone who's read and/or reviewed.

**Pale Moon Burning Sun**

_Where do they belong? _

**Chapter 5**

Against protocol she slipped, unnoticed, into the city streets. The heat pressed into every nook, cranny and crevice. It slurred words, soddened clothes and drugged the mind, but it didn't stop her intuition from sensing that it meant something ... the encounter; the blonde hair; the blue eyes.

"_No, no, Mocha." Arms flailed. "I want her— I want her." His arms reaching, fingers grasping, eyes focused in **her** direction, back arching to escape the grip._

--------

He fisted the note in his hand.

"What gives?"

Hoping it didn't show in his eyes. "Nothing, Stel."

"Didn't look like nothing."

Should he rat her out to appease himself? It was risky when Stella had the ear of Mac. He didn't want to screw this up—with anybody—but most of all with her.

Decisively, he threw the crumpled paper to the table.

--------

Blinding brightness behind her, strangling darkness before her, poised on the threshold of answers.

Ignoring the smell of smoke and sex, she searched the wall for the answer contained among those who'd made choices; for the one in particular who had chosen the devastation of a life.

Further answers would be harder won as she slammed the picture from the wall to the table. "Was this woman here the night of the murder?"

A flicker of a glance from the man nourishing his paunch. "Hasn't worked here in ages. Fucking shame too, she was my cash cow."

"That wasn't my question. The night of the murder; was— she— here—?"

Forking a mouthful of meat. "Lotta clients here that night." Bending head to capture the forkful, mumbling through the side of his mouth, eyes swiveling up to leer at her body. "But maybe you come back to my office ... help me remember?"

Leaning over table, nose to nose, a tire iron shrouded in velvet, sighing across his ear. "Sure." Fingering the phone at her waistband. "Just let me make a call to a friend in Vice first. We could make it a friendly threesome."

Pushing back, jangle of flatware thrown to the plate. "Yeah, yeah, Mocha was here."

Retaining her siege of his personal space. "And?"

"Met that arrogant SOB Manes." Napkin cast to the table.

She straightened, slipping visions of life and death before him. "What about this young woman?"

"Yeah, her too." At her warning look, he grumbled reluctantly. "But _after _the Congressman left."

--------

Feeling relief and trepidation at the sight of the casually propped silhouette, intimately known to her, even in the shadowy recesses.

"I would have come with you." Sandpapered words, thumbs hooked into pockets.

Struggling to decipher the shadow across his face. "I needed to connect the dots on my own."

"Why?" Clipping out the answer. "Because I doubted-"

"Yeah, because you doubted me." Snapping back.

"Didn't doubt you, Linds, I questioned your hunch ... it's part of the job." Softer now. "Gotta separate from it or you'll never make it ... _we'll _never make it."

Eyes dropping, mesmerized by the glint of his badge. "I know ... I'm trying ... but it's all at the surface, getting mixed up, can't always tell what's logical and what's not, makes me doubt myself." Finally, looking up at him, admitting, "And you."

--------

It would never fly until she constructed the trail; the _how_, the _when_, and the _where,_ confirmed by the evidence deemed necessary by protocol. But the _why_ was never a requirement; the _why_ was merely for herself ... for her sanity.

_Why the cuff links?_

_Why the scar?_

_Why the adoption?_

_Why Mocha?_

_Why Manes?_

_Why Melinda, lifeless in an alley?_

_Why? Why? Why?_

She yearned for the clarity and calm of the Pale Moon; the time before the fall; before the loss, the emptiness, and the bitterness. All of that had desecrated the sanctity of the Pale Moon. And fading swiftly was the ability to restore that sanctity.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Thank you for reading and reviewing. Special thanks to **notesofwimsey** for help with that pesky sentence.

**Pale Moon Burning Sun**

_Where do they belong? _

**Chapter 6**

The tepid taupe walls and battered brown carpet bounded the room in institutional gloom. Until ... until her eyes encountered the wall plastered with familial expressions of joy, love and completeness. Entranced. But with it _all_ close to the surface she couldn't afford to partake.

"The only reason I still do this job." A weary gesture from a woman who unfailingly gave more to them than to herself. "Are you looking to-" A hopeful shimmer in her eyes.

"No, no, I'm ..." Scrambling, then finally capitulating to the old habits, thrusting it _all_ deep down inside. "Did you handle this case?"

Eyes scanned paperwork swiftly. "Yes." Words measured. "But it was an unusual case for me."

"How so?"

"Private."

"You mean closed?"

"No."

"What's the difference?"

"In a closed adoption the identity of the birth parents and adoptive parents are withheld from each other."

"And private?"

"Arrangement between two private parties without the involvement of an agency. Normally I contract with the State of New York for Child Protective Services. "

"And this one?"

Cautious query. "Off the record?"

Hesitant assurance. "For the moment."

"This one was a special request from an old friend."

--------

The inner turmoil now locked inside; the key tossed away by her determination. She prayed that he'd managed his part, uncertain of the duration of the lock. "Did you bring him in?"

"Yeah, but we don't have much time before his lawyer arrives." Syncing his step with her stride.

"And her?"

"She's here too." Double stepping to front her. "You sure about this?"

"Perfectly sure." Brandishing folder in the air. "I've got the last link here."

"I didn't mean the evidence. I meant… I mean…. Look, I can get Stella or Flack to go in with me."

"No!" If anyone could retrieve the key he could, but ... _the face; the wail; the hands reaching for **her **... _she couldn't chance it, not yet. "No, I have to prove who murdered his mother." Her eyes pled for indulgence once more. "And I have to know why."

--------

Itching to noose the tightrope he was walking around the neck of the disdainful face before him.

"Payments to Monique Waterston for the past three years, Congressman."

"She's a consultant for my constituency in the entertainment realm."

Smug oiled taunt slipped his balance. "Consult this Manes! A blood sample we confiscated from a PR stint for The Red Cross. With it we can prove that he is yours and Melinda's."

Registering her flinch at his outburst, he noted that her hand steadied, opening, to reveal the paired reminders of betrayal, decloaking the charade. "And these were her wakeup call to you, weren't they, Congressman? But you didn't want to wake up, did you?"

--------

"Blackmail, Monique."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Adopting his son so you could charge for his access." Her strategic jibe severed the tethered annoyance into indignant confession.

"That lying no good sonofabitch! Is that what he told you? He paid ME to keep his bastard son under wraps; secretly arranged the adoption through an old friend of his when he found that Melinda hadn't gone through with the abortion."

"Maybe we should be thankful for small mercies—that only a piece of paper considered you a mother. Kind of ironic, isn't it? Melinda truly was his mother, wasn't she? Lived with you, took care of him, _mothered_ him, and in the end she wanted to make that legitimate." Opening her palm, allowing the glitter of truth to spark an explosion.

"Stupid bitch! Melinda thought some sentimental link to the past would make Manes acknowledge and create a respectable place in society for her and that brat of hers. But he'd sooner bury them than acknowledge them."

"So you took care of things because what really mattered to you was the money, wasn't it Monique? Or should I say Mocha?"

"How dare you judge me? Do you know what it's like? Stripping and doing time on your back?" Aging allure pinched by her lemoned sneer. "I was out of that life but I would have been back there in a flash if I had let her go public. I had no choice!"

"That's where you're wrong." Desperate to believe her own words. "There are always choices." Struggling to state the tormenting truth. "But you chose to let an innocent child grow up without his mother."

--------

Her gamble in the interrogation room had yielded spades, but her harried scribbling across the file divulged the toll it had taken.

Knowing her, it would only be a matter of time until she folded, but he didn't have time.

"Lindsay, we have to talk."

Her bluff came quick, too quick.

Forcing her hand by reluctantly reminding, "I'm on the red-eye tonight."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thanks to all for reading and reviewing.

**Pale Moon Burning Sun**

_Where do they belong? _

**Chapter 7 **

As the burning sun set behind him and the pale moon rose before him, he fought the two thousand miles of doubt and memories between them.

"_Come with me." _

"_I can't ... I have to be here ... just in case I can help him." _

_Understanding the intense need to make things right, but alarmed at the thought of losing her to it, he blurted out, "Why? Because he reached for you and now you feel some misguided responsibility to make it better for him?" _

"_Misguided? He didn't reach for me." _

"_But that day in Monique's apartment, I saw him. I know that got to you." _

"_No ... I mean you're right; it did. But after I replayed it again and again, I realized that although he was reaching in my direction ... he wasn't reaching for me. He was reaching for the picture of Melinda that Monique had tossed aside." Cloistering her arms about her body, embittered. "But I wanted it to be me. I needed it to be me. Neither of us had a choice. He lost; I lost."_

"_Damn Lindsay, I lost too!" _

Now scuffing his boot against the furnace-hardened earth, here in this place without her, but for her; he wondered if he had lost her.

--------

At the thought of treading in tender territory breakfast revolted, but she quelled it with a hard swallow.

"What will happen to him, Stella?"

"They'll place him a foster home, hopefully a good one."

"What are his chances for adoption?"

"Good. He's less than five years old, no medical issues, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Caucasian. But Lindsay, I'm not going to sugarcoat this. The older you get, the less looks you get." Acrimonious green, spewing thirty years forward. "But forget it if you are troubled, unhealthy, the wrong color, the wrong gender and a host of other undesirable qualities that _real_ parents love in their own children without a second thought."

"Stella, I'm sor-"

"Forget it. It's all in the past."

"Stella." Chancing a touch to her arm. "I didn't mean to bring up tough memories."

The rare show of emotion sputtering as quickly as it had flared, "It is what it is."

--------

Her words:

_It is what it is _

and his words:

_Sometimes we don't have a choice but we get a second chance _

drummed her pace, taming the cacophonous city sounds to white noise, parting the heat draped about the city and conveying her toward the hope that she could fill the emptiness, relieve the bitterness and repair the loss; that she could make it right for everyone.

Could she make it what it could be?

A trade of coins for The Times, tucking it under her arm, trepidation of stairs conquered by escalating hope.

Crossing the threshold of her apartment, dumping everything, she hastily pressed the number, connecting on the second ring.

"Yes. This is Lindsay Monroe. I was in your office-"

"Oh, you saw it on the news." Suppressing the urge to interrupt, she twirled a curl.

Seizing the break. "Listen, I want to help him. Would you consider-"

"What?" Frantically unfolding the paper, scanning the headlines: _Congressman and Wife Uphold Family Values._

"No, I hadn't seen, no I … I … I'm not interested in anything else at the moment."

Strangled, "Thank you," slipping from her lips as her hopes followed suit.

--------

Searing sun on the rise; predawn brushing of street sweepers; salutational warbling of strutting pigeons; soothing familiarity lost to the love-softened street accent simultaneously present and absent.

"_It wasn't just you that lost, I lost too. Sometimes we don't have the choice but we get a second chance." _

"_But … but to have the first chance, before you even planned it ... or knew it existed, ripped from you. If I hadn't fallen-" _

"_No! Don't do that to yourself, Lindsay. It was me. If I hadn't lost my grip on the suspect." _

Walking through wide-eyed sleep; day mares preferable to night mares; the pulse of the city echoing her emptiness and hammering her ache for him; he was simply in everything; simply everywhere, simply there but not.

--------

The luminous face transfixed him, soothed him, grounded him. But each night, it waned in duration and abundance, down to a tiny sliver, ultimately vanishing into darkness— abandoning him to a slate that he could not wipe clean.

_Roused into glaring brightness, forced to leave her side._

"_Mr. Messer, we didn't want to upset your wife that's why-"_

"_She's going to be okay, right? There's no serious injury from the fall?"_

"_I'm sorry but she lost the baby."_

"_Baby?"_

"_Physically she'll recover quickly, but emotionally she could teeter. You'll need to be there for her."_

"_Of course, I'll be there."_

But he wasn't there.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thanks to all for making this foray into the sketchy somewhere between prose and poetry a positive one.

**Pale Moon Burning Sun**

_Where do they belong? _

**Chapter 8**

Her eyelashes, a half-mooned darkness, splashed against alabaster cheeks.

He despised waking her; she slept as peacefully as a baby.

His hand resting on the swell of her hip, lips to ear, he whispered. "Hey, sleepyhead."

She stirred. His heart swelled. It was so right. He knew it; he was here for her.

Her eyes drowsed with wonder and love and lust as she palmed his bristly cheek, brushing her thumb across his lips.

A shiver of desire as she drew him in; kicking off boots, he hungrily relaxed into it.

Her hand sailed easily up his thigh. He had always loathed a possessive hand, and there had been many, but hers he revered, for she did not possess; he simply was possessed.

--------

His fingers brushed dampened tendrils away from her love-flushed cheeks, murmuring, "I'm sorry about the boy. I'm sorry I wasn't here."

Nestling into the crook of his arm. "It's okay. Like you said, it was a misguided notion ... a misguided notion to try to right a wrong that I had little right to," acquiescent sigh, "PR stunt or not, he deserves a chance at a life with his father."

"It wasn't a misguided notion. It was a gesture from the heart; one of the many things I love about you, Mrs. Messer."

Nestling closer. "And you know what I love about you, Mr. Messer?" Feathering strokes. "The fact that you came halfway across the country to say that." Nuzzling softly. "When do you have to go back?"

"That depends on you."

Propping up on an elbow, face to face scrutiny. "What do you mean?"

"Lindsay, I'm not leaving you again."

"But I thought this was what you wanted; to be back on the promotion grid?"

"What I want Lindsay is to be with you ..." words escaping his heart, bypassing his brain, "... and I want you off the street."

"What?" Eyes orbed in surprise then narrowed in defiance. "Are you telling me to give up my career?"

"No, Lindsay. No!"

"Then what are you telling me to do?"

"This isn't about me telling you what to do. This is about … Christ, Lindsay, after you fell, I realized that even I can't prevent something from happening to you out there ... and that's killing me."

Rampant denial masquerading as soothing lucidity. "I understand Danny, really, I do but we all face the same risks, the same dangers. I'm no different than you or anyone else on the team."

"C'mon Linds, you damn well know you're different. You're my wife and someday you'll be the mother of-"

"Don't go there, Danny!"

"Why not? Just because you can't talk about it ... because you have to keep it all locked up inside ... doesn't mean that I can keep it all locked up inside!"

"It wasn't an 'it'."

"Okay if you want to argue technicalities I will. We don't know what 'it' was, hell we didn't even know 'it' existed until 'it' was gone."

"Fuck you, Danny. It was a baby, a part of you, a part of me. How can you not care?"

"Dammit Lindsay, I care. Can't you see that? I fucking care so much I'm halfway across the country working my ass off night and day just for the chance, Lindsay, not the assurance but just for the chance, that I'll be able to work my way up the career ladder to make enough to support you AND a family ..." a sharp left into gentleness, breathing life into the admission, "... the family that I want to have with you."

Hand brushing across tear-filled eyes. "Danny,,I-"

Tenderly cradling wet cheeks. "Lindsay, I didn't understand it then but I do now. And _our_ baby that _we_ lost ... maybe it was meant to be _my_ wakeup call ... and maybe that was all it was meant to be ... this time."

"Then why can't I get past it; let it go?"

Resilient arms anchoring her to him. "It's like you said; it was a part of me, a part of you. Maybe you don't get past it; maybe you acknowledge it for what it was and look forward to what it can be."

Vulnerability echoing into the hollow of his neck. "As much as I want that, Danny, I'm so scared of letting go of what I know and plunging into something I don't."

Answering plea caressing her heart. "But wouldn't you rather be scared together than apart?"

Surrendering fears. "Yes, I would," mingling strength; embracing trust, "we belong together." Restoring the sacred bond.

--------

**Epilogue **

_In a land now their own_

_By virtue of their alliance_

_Amid harsh light and chilled nights_

_A burgeoning life_

_Nurtured by the tranquility of the Pale Moon_

_And protected by the ferocity of the Burning Sun_

_Secured in the illumination_

_Not always visible but always present_

_Perpetually turning the wheel of life._

--------

Again special thanks to **MariaLisa, notesofwimsey, Elainhe** and **Bluenose** for their help and inspiration on this piece.


End file.
